


Not Exactly "Safe"

by Leah_Hansen



Series: Summertime Steam [2]
Category: Happy Tree Friends
Genre: Boodplay, Dom! Flaky, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Insults, Name Calling, Painplay, Sex, Sub! Flippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5853040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leah_Hansen/pseuds/Leah_Hansen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tables are turned, and now Flippy's the one in trouble. Companion to Not So Safe</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Exactly "Safe"

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Not So Safe

Not Exactly “Safe”

* * *

 

It’s been a long, boiling several weeks since that day. Flaky avoids him, her skin tingling. How many times has she relived that moment, so painfully long inside her brain, his mouth against hers, his eyes locked on _her_ , like she’s the only girl in his world—like she’s his world? She spends most days wearing an oversized, dirty t-shirt and tiny, ripped jean shorts, showing off her skinny, hairy legs, covered with freckles and Band-Aids, hiding out in her house.

The doorbell rings sometime in the late afternoon, and she nearly screams when she answers it and sees _him_ , wearing a tight black tank-top and a pair of baggy shorts, holding a bottle of beer in his hand, even though he’s too young to drink.

He smiles, flashing long canines, and he looks so cute that it hurts. “Hey,” he tells her, smiling that crooked smile, and she thinks back to that day, his hands on her, so tight it left bruises, her mouth swollen from his kisses, his fingers in her hair, pounding her dirty and hard, her knees raw, her cunt sore.

She blushes and squeaks out something that sounds like a greeting, or so she hopes, and his eyes are green. He’s not Fliqpy. That makes her relax, but she wonders if he remembers fucking her like a dirty whore, his hands in her hair, his mouth on her neck and shoulders, biting and sucking, his cock hammering in and out of her wet cunt. A blush crawls up her face, but he doesn’t seem to take notice and holds up the shiny, brand-new bottle with this huge, shit-eating grin, letting the sun gleam through the beer.

“I brought some fun drinks,” he tells her, smiling again, bearing his teeth in a smile. There’s an underlying snarl in his smile, feral, and his teeth look exceptionally sharp and pointy. “Let’s drink.” He wedges himself inside, completely ignorant of how rude it is, and makes his way to the thread-barren couch. Kicking off his boots, he reclines and breaks open the bottle with his teeth easily; laughing, he tips it into his mouth, and his Adam’s apple bobs in time with his swallows.

She can’t shut off her brain, her mind pulling forward the memories of his hot breath on her skin, his hands bruising her hips with how tight he’d held her, his chest, slick with sweat, rubbing against her spine. A short, shaky breath rushes in past her tight teeth and he looks up, abruptly, like he’s only just noticing her. She grinds her teeth and says, her heart pounding inside her chest, “Get out, please.” Her hands are shaking so badly that she can hardly form fists, heavy dread constricting her throat and stomach. He blinks up at her, lazy, his eyes flashing yellow-green, the color of sunlit leaves during summer, in the light; a cold trickle of fear skips down her spine.

“You know I like you. You’re really cute.” He smiles, like they’re sharing a joke and she feels her face flame up again but this time it’s with bitter, hot-candy anger, and she’s teetering on some edge that wasn’t there before, never had been, and the fire sloshes through her veins, flowing out from her chest and branching out, snaking into her fingertips. She flexes her fingers, surprised at the heat of rage in them.

“I think you should leave,” she states in a frighteningly calm voice. He sits up, his back ruler straight, and frowns at her; setting down the glass, he pushes himself to his feet and steps closer to her. The fire’s getting hotter and hotter, burning almost, and she shies away from him, her breath coming in short gasps; her eyes fill with tears, creating a warped film over his face.

“Flakey, are you okay?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but that’s when the burning hits its peak and all that comes out is a hoarse scream, barely even a squeak, and her legs give out as something inside her _shatters_ and it’s like she’s flying into a million shards, a million directions. The carpet is hard and tough underneath her cheek, is what she thinks of when the shattered pieces of her glue themselves back together, rearranging her into a new, better person.

She sees Flippy’s bare feet and wrinkles her nose as she swiftly pushes herself upright. He’s speaking rapidly to her, panic all over his face, and freezes when she so calmly stands up. When she looks down, she finds her knees are skinned and wipes her thumb across the bloody, irritated skin, and then brings it to her mouth; it doesn’t taste bad, she decides. This new mindset is cold and calculating and she flexes her arms, first her left and then her right, wiggling her fingers; next, she squats down, testing her knees.

“Flaky?” Flippy asks in a weak, tiny-boy voice and she smiles, showing off her teeth. “Awe,” she says, laughing at the fear so clear in his eyes; the tables have turned and he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like being out of control because it’s always _him_ who’s Flipped. She turns her fingers into claws and uses the balls of her feet to lunge at him, knocking him into the couch; he bounces and tries to fight her off but his face is flushed and his eyes are glittering with arousal.

She presses her mouth against his neck, sucking the skin there, and he bucks into her, pressing his hot cock, painfully hard, right into her clit; she grinds down and places her fingers at the edges of the collar of his button-up and pulls her hands into two different directions, scattering the buttons. He gasps, and she takes his mouth, tasting the sweet, bitter beer on his tongue, swirling hers around it and sucking it into her mouth. He squirms, trying to press himself into her, and she lifts her mouth away from his, a trail of spit hanging between them.

“Don’t _do_ that.” She narrows her eyes and smiles when he blanches, immediately stilling. Satisfied, she begins to touch his chest, raking her nails down the sun-gold skin, leaving red trails and he hisses like it hurts but his cock twitches and swells even bigger against her. “Such a good little dick,” she murmurs, tweaking his nipples as she continues her path down his chest.

“Ah! F-fuck! You feel so good,” he whimpers, rocking his hips like a wanton little whore and she digs her knees into his hips, feeling his cock throb again. She unbuttons his jeans and he lifts his legs to help her slide them down; despite the heat of his dick being muted, she could feel it washing off.

“Knock it _off_ ,” she hisses and buries her fingers in his hair, digging her nails in, and pulling his head back. Jesus, this feels so fucking good, being in _charge_ , being the one on top, grinding into him, leaving her smell all over him; she is a bitch in heat but she’s the top dog now. Her tiny nipples poke out of her shirt and she notices how his eyes are fixed on them, unwavering; smiling slyly, she lifts up her shirt and dangles her tits in his face. He moans like a bitch and she grins at his flushed expression; his tongue darts out to wet his mouth.

Without another word, she stands up and wiggles out of her pants, and then yanks down his boxers, staring at his cock, a purple-red color, covered in angry veins and leaking pre-cum down the sides; she can feel it hammering into her, his hands bruising her hips, her skin burning with his bite marks, stinging. She slides down onto him and, shit, he slides in so perfectly; the burning stretch is good, and it makes her hot all over, and she rolls her hips experimentally. The muscles in his stomach flex like a wave as he groans, deep and low, in the back of his throat, thrusting into her.

She slaps him across the face and latches her mouth onto his Adam’s apple, scraping it with her teeth. “No fucking me this time,” she says, scowling at him as she squeezes his shoulders, digging her long nails in. A gurgled cry leaves his mouth as she sets the pace, his balls hitting her ass with every thrust, hot and thick and smooth against her ass. Jesus. She’s riding him, her skin slapping against his; she squeezes her cunt around him, loving the way his mouth opens in a high moan when she does.

The couch squeaks and protests as she rocks her hips, wraps her arms around him, and pauses, pressing her teeth hard into his shoulder, to make him bleed. As the blood washes into her mouth, she moans loudly at the taste of him and his cock swells inside of her, a fresh burst of pre-cum spilling into her. He’s gasping and panting, trying to spit something out but his hands are on her thighs—stomach—breasts, squeezing her nipples sharply, and she sucks on his wound, the suction drawing blood. As her muscles quiver, he tucks his head down and wraps his lips around her nipple, sucking gently, like a baby.

She squeezes her cunt again, to remind him who’s in charge, and he bites down on her nipples; the pain makes her pussy gush all over his cock, soaking the downy, green curls that surround his cock into a flat expanse of hair. She stands up and grabs him by the hair, dragging him towards her bedroom. She pauses to admire her reflection, flushed from head to toe, her lips swollen, cunt dripping juices down her thighs, her hair tangled and wild; he’s covered in scratches and hickeys, his cock sticking out like a beacon, bouncing as he struggles half-heartedly, his shoulder bleeding still from where she’d sank her teeth into the delicious skin. What a sight.

Once they reach her bedroom, she throws him onto the bed and crawls on top, pressing her mouth against his gently as she lines up her wet, glossy cunt with his dick, feeling the bulbous head, radiating heat and pre-cum, pressing into her opening. “Fuck, Flippy. Did your cock get bigger, you bitch boy? Mm. I remember last time, me on my hands and knees, your hands in my hair, my little tits bouncing; I was such a greedy little whore and I couldn’t have been any happier—I had this hot, unbelievably sweet guy fucking me like a dirty bitch, making me his cumslut, and I found I liked it; I _wanted_ it. I came so many times since then. It was _so fucking hot_.” She presses her mouth firmly against his as she pops his head into her, sucking in a short breath at the slight burn, and then sets a pace, their slick skin slapping against each other furiously with every bounce, her hair flying around her madly.

He doesn’t seem to care; his eyes are glassy and he has drool running down his chin as he tilts his head back, muttering words she can’t quite hear clearly. “Fucking little cunt…such a whore…so tight…my babies,” was all she heard, and the idea of his baby, _his baby_ , inside of her sparks something hot, an all-consuming fire that won’t be doused. She places her hands on his chest, scraping the already pink skin with her nails, and pours out all her rage and arousal, her cunt squelching around his cock, each thrust sending a fresh spray of her juices all over both their thighs. He’s lost, his eyes closed and his teeth gnawing his bottom lip, his brows drawn in concentration. “You feel so good in me, baby. Makes me want you inside me all time. Imagine that. Fucking me, day in, day out, every day. You could spank my ass red and I’d stuff my little pretty pussy on your cock.”

His eyes focus on her and he says, hoarsely, “I need that, baby. Give it to me.”

And she does, her thighs jiggling with every thrust, her calves burning from the ninety-degree angle she’s at so she slides down onto the fronts of her legs and turns the other way, making her ass bounce with every thrust and his hands are on her ass, marveling it. She’s sobbing, so close no that it hurt, and then he hits her, hard, right across the ass. His cock spasms a few times before he fucks her, using her arms as leverage and she doesn’t deny that she loves every minute of it, yelling insults at him. “You little fucking cunt, you can’t fuck for shit! Your little dick is hardly anything!” she yells, and he reaches down and touches her clit, driving her towards that edge.

She closes her eyes as the coil in her belly tightens and tightens, a snake ready to spring, and then—it’s like she’s floating, her head fuzzy as she fucking cums so hard that she fucking _squirts_ and then he’s pounding away at her, the bed shaking and quivering, and then _he_ cums inside of her, filling her pussy up with his hot load, his hot seed.

Exhausted, he flops back down and she slips under the covers, hoping she gets pregnant. “Who are you?” he asks eventually, inspecting the scratches along his chest. She pretends to think.

“Red. I am Red.” She shoves her hand down to his cock and it swells in her tiny hand. Smirking, she climbs atop him, his cum dripping in strings out of her, and slides back onto his cock.

“Now fuck me. I’m not safe, so don’t treat me like I’m glass.”

“Not exactly safe anymore, eh?”

She slaps him.

 

 


End file.
